Alternate Chapters
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: Clearly some things happened very differently in the Movie. Movie Canon.
1. Fog On The Barrow Downs One

Frodo blundered through the dense, opaque gray fog towards distant voices calling his name: "Frodo! Hoy, Frodo!"

Suddenly the calls changed to shrill cries of "Help! Help!" He treid to run towards them struggling up the steep slope, frantically shouting his friends' names until his breath gave out. Then a high, horrible, un-Hobbitlike scream froze the blood in his veins and stopped him in his tracks. It was followed by a second scream and then a third. Finally, after a long and terrible silence while the fog darkened around him, came another cry of "Frodo!"

"Here! I'm coming!" weak with relief he finished scrambling up the steep side of the down and staggered towards the voices.

"Frodo! Mr. Frodo!" Sam materialized out of the thinning fog and they fell into each others' arms.

"Sam! Sam, what happened?"

Before the gardener could answer he was displaced by Merry and Pippin, both hugging their cousin in passionate relief and both talking at once:

Merry: "Where did you go?"

Pippin: "All of a sudden you were just gone!"

Merry: "Really, Frodo, you must be more careful!"

Pippin: "What if you had run into the Barrow Wights too?"

"Barrow Wights!" Frodo gaped. The fog had thinned to a drifting whisps and the stars shone bright overhead giving him enough light to see the tall, cloaked figure suddenly looming behind his friends. Frodo gasped in horror and tried to shove Pippin behind him, hand groping for Sting's hilt.

"No, it's all right, Mr. Frodo." Sam assured him.

"I am not a Wight," the figure said wryly.

"This is Lightfoot," Sam explained. "He rescued us."

Frodo blinked. What was one of the Big Folk doing out on the Downs?

"What brings four Hobbits out of the Shire and onto the Barrow Downs?" Lightfoot asked, like an echo.

"We – we were making for Bree," Frodo stammered in answer.

"You would have done better to say on the road," the Man answered.

"We were taking a short," Frodo admitted.

"That was unwise." The hooded head turned in response to something the Hobbits could neither see nor hear, "As is staying out on Downs after dark." Light foot unslung his bow and knocked an arrow. "Follow me."

…

The shelter the Man brought them too was uncomfortably like a barrow to look at, long and low with a turf roof. He lit a lamp on next to the door then crossed the stone floor to light a second on a cupboard at the far end of the oval room. Six cots, three to a side, stood with their heads to the wall and piles of neatly folded blankets at their feet. They seemed enormously long, long enough for two Hobbits lying head to head. There was a fire laid ready on a stone slab between the two plinths upholding the roof, and wood stacked near the door.

"Come in," said Lightfoot.

The Hobbits took a few uncertain steps into the room, moving together in a clump. Frodo had seen only three other Big People in his life; Gandalf, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry but this Man was taller than any of them, his hooded head almost lost in the shadows of the ceiling. Then he did off his cloak and Frodo saw with a shock that Lightfoot was not a Man at all but a Woman!

She had long, black hair plaited and coiled around her head and a long, pale face that could have been pretty were it not so grim and stern. She wore a long, worn leather coat and a sword belted around her waist. She did that off as well and laid it with her cloak on one of the cots.

"Is – isn't this a barrow?" Pippin asked hesitantly.

"It was intended for one," the Woman answered. "But left unfinished for some reason, my people have used it as a guard post since the days of the Witch Wars. Are you hungry?"

That is a question Hobbits seldom answer with a no and one well calculated to raise their spirits. A table with several stools stood between the hearth and the cupboard, as oversized as the cots and clearly made for very Big People indeed –like Lightfoot. The food was rather disappointing; rolls of dried meat and fruit, and cakes of flat hard bread. But there was also a cordial that Lightfoot poured from a leather flask, gold colored and tasting of honey and apricots. It warmed the four Hobbits from top to toe easing their fears and weariness.

After drinking it Frodo felt brave enough to ask about the Barrow Wights. "In the Shire we say they are the ghosts of the ancient folk buried in the mounds."

The Woman's grey eyes flashed alarmingly but her voice was calm and gentle as she answered; "That is not true. These are the graves of my ancestors. Some are from the days of the Kings but others are far older, from the Elder Days before Men entered Beleriand to join the High Elves' war against the Great Enemy. The Souls of those buried here have long since passed into the West and beyond the Circles of the World.

"The Wights are evil spirits out of the Witch Kingdom who cloth themselves in the bones of the ancient as a garment. My kinsmen and I avenge that desecration when we may, but there are many other dangers in the Wild these days now that Sauron has returned.

Frodo swallowed. "So we have heard. We were warned to stay off the road."

"No doubt your advisor had good reason for his warning," Lightfoot answered judiciously. "But friends as well as enemies watch the roads out of the Shire. In any case I doubt he meant for you to try to cross the Barrow Downs so close to nightfall."

All four Hobbits blushed. "We fell asleep," Merry admitted shamefacedly, "after we stopped for lunch. We didn't wake 'til near sunset."

Lightfoot nodded as if that was to be expected. "It is best not to stop or rest on the Downs unless in some protected place such as this. Even in daylight they are not truly safe."

"If I might ask, miss, what were _you_ doing out here all alone if it's so dangerous?" Sam reddened to the ears as the Woman's bright eyes turned his way but met them stoutly.

"The Downs lie on my path homeward," she answered mildly, apparently unoffended. "And I am armed and on my guard against Wightish spells." She stood. "Try to get some sleep. This place is defended, the Wights cannot enter here."

"Like Tom Bombadil's house," said Merry.

Lightfoot shook her head. "Not so strongly as that – but sufficient." She turned towards the lamp on the cupboard and the three younger Hobbits all cried out in alarm:

"Don't blow it out!"

She smiled at them, stern face softened to gentleness. "I wasn't going to." She looked at Frodo: "Light is the best defense against wraiths of all kinds."

Even Black Riders? Suddenly Frodo was sure that Lightfoot knew far more about them than she was letting on – maybe everything. His hand went involuntarily to the pocket holding the Ring but he felt no desire to bring it out – quite the opposite. Almost as if the Ring itself didn't want Lightfoot to see it.

…

Note: The 'protection' on the Ranger Shelter needs a strong and practiced will behind it to be most effective, just as defensive walls need warriors behind them to repel foes. If the Hobbits were alone they would not be safe even in the shelter.


	2. Fog On the Barrow Downs Two

Frodo woke on the too large cot to find the fire had gone out but the lamps were still burning, flames pale and transparent in the morning sunlight spilling though the open door. He disentangled himself from his cocoon of blankets and padded to the door for a look outside. Lightfoot was sitting on a fallen megalith combing out her long black hair.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning." He glanced upward at the grey clouds scudding across the sky. "Looks like rain."

"Not till later," the Woman answered confidently. "You may be able to make Bree first." She pointed northward, "The road is about five miles that way and the town some twelve miles beyond that." She lowered her arm and gave Frodo a straight look. "I know you were warned to stay off the road but I wouldn't advise wandering far from it. The Wild holds many dangers but the road is guarded.

But by whom, Frodo wondered.

…..

A couple of hours walk from the shelter brought them to the narrow valley where Merry, Pippin and Sam had been ambushed by Wights. The only trace of the night's struggle was three mounds of bone covered with rags of thin white silk.

Lightfoot went down on her knee to cut a large square in the turf with a long bladed knife and peel it back to uncover the bare earth. Then she collected the bones and piled them together covering them with tinder of dry grass and shredded silk. Finally she took a large glass or crystal from a fold in her cloak and used it to focus the sun's rays to set the pile alight.

"Sunfire cleanses," she explained briefly to the watching Hobbits and the fire caught and spread, the flames white as the pale silks. Raising her hands over the small pyre Lightfoot chanted a few staves in a language Frodo recognized though he understood only a word or two here and there.

Bilbo had taught him the common Elvish and a few phrases of High Elven which latter tongue was seldom spoken on this side of the Sundering Sea. Yet Frodo was sure that that was the language of Lightfoot's song. What kind of Woman was this? Surely no simple wife or maiden of Bree!

Finishing her song she turned away from the fire leading them almost due north and allowing no halt until they had passed over a dike and through a hedge marking the borders of the Downs. Only then did she let four rather footsore Hobbits light a fire and cook themselves a combined lunch and tea.

"Is that dike and hedge to keep the Barrow Wights in?" Merry asked through a mouthful of bread and sausage.

Lightfoot shook her head. "No. Long ago they marked the border between the kingdoms of Cardolan and Arthedain." She smiled grimly, "Wights cannot be contained by so simple a means."

The Hobbits shivered and asked no more questions.

…..

The sun was invisible behind a veil of rain heavy clouds but Frodo guessed it was well after noon by the time they reached the road. "Well here we are at last," he said. "I don't suppose can have lost any more than a day or two by my 'shortcut'!"

"It may have served to put your pursuers off the trail at least," Lightfoot observed.

Frodo gave her a sharp look. They had been careful to say nothing about the Black Riders but clearly the Woman knew all about them – and how much else?

"The trees alongside the road will give you cover," she continued. "Best hurry while the light lasts."

"You're not going to Bree?" Pippin asked in surpise.

"No. My home lies farther east and north of here."

Frodo bowed. "We thank you, lady, for all your help."

"You are very welcome," she answered briskly. "Now be off with you! Somebody in Bree may be anxious."

Yes indeed – Gandalf! Frodo couldn't wait to see the wizard. He'd know what do to next. And maybe he could tell them who and what Lightfoot was.

The Woman watched as the four Hobbits slipped silently way through the trees screening the road. They did not look back and so failed to see the tall Man, cloaked and hooded in green, who materialized seemingly out of nowhere to stand beside her.

"Where did you find them?" he asked.

"In the Downs on the verge of being captured by Wights," Lightfoot shot a slanting, sidelong look at her companion. "It was fortunate I happened upon them in time.

The Man's returned look held both tightly leashed annoyance and a certain resignation, as if she'd scored a point in some long standing argument.

"Any word of Gandalf?" Lightfoot asked, concern showing.

The Man shook his head grimly. "No. I will take them to Rivendell. Our uncle will know what to do."

"The Nine are abroad," she warned. "Be wary, Aragorn."

"I will," he promised. "Go home to your children, Aranel." The Man melted into the shadows under the trees, following the Hobbits.

Lightfoot passed through the belt of trees crossing the road and striking northeast into the Wilds on the other side.


	3. Into The Wild

Merry didn't think much of Frodo's decision to take on Strider as a guide, even if the Man had saved them from the Black Riders. "Just because he dresses like Lightfoot doesn't mean he's as friendly as she was," his cousin had pointed out acidly.

But to Frodo's eyes the likeness went rather deeper than the worn green leathers both wore. Under Strider's tangled hair and scruffy beard he saw the same elegant bones he'd noticed in Lightfoot's face, and his eyes held the same bright, Elvish light. Frodo thought he knew what, if not who, this strange Man and Woman were, and if he was right not only was Strider to be trusted but with Gandalf gone he was the best protector they could have.

Anyway it wasn't like he had any choice. It wasn't as if they could go home, or even stay in Bree!

…..

They saw no trace of the Black Riders after leaving the town apparently Strider had succeeded in shaking them off though the punishing pace he demanded was beginning to tell on all four Hobbits. Once through the Midgewater Marshes the Man turned north, following a small stream into stony highlands he called the Weather Hills. It was growing dark when the winding ravine they were following suddenly widened into a valley surrounded by high hills and half filled by a shallow lake of grey water.

Floating upon the mere was a rambling house built of fieldstone and half-timber with yellow candlelight showing at its many windows and linked to the shore by a bridge of plank and rope. It was at once a homely and astonishing sight here deep in the Wild.

"That's never Rivendell!" Pippin blurted.

Strider, for the first time in their experience of him, laughed out loud. "No Master Took, this is a Ranger holding belonging to some kinfolk of mine. We will rest under a safe roof tonight."

He set a brisk pace over the flimsy bridge. The Hobbits swallowed hard and held tightly to the rope railings as they tried to keep their footing on the swaying boards. The great iron bound doors at the end opened for them without a knock.

They passed through a windowless, cobble floored room with a ladder in one corner and a second set of massive doors standing open to a torch lit courtyard.

A Woman stood waiting at the foot of a flight of steps. She wore a soft grey gown and her long black hair fluttered in the evening breeze. "Lightfoot!" Frodo exclaimed, though somehow not entirely surprised by her reappearance.

She smiled slightly. "Welcome to Greymere, Frodo Baggins.

Lightfoot led them up the stair and through a small room into a spacious chamber. The whitewashed walls were hung with tapestries worked in intricate designs and rich colors. The light of brazen lamps and many candles illuminated a woman and two children setting a long, linen covered table board with earthenware plates and pewter bowls and cups.

The little girl, a pretty golden haired creature, gave a delighted cry and dropped her handful of silver spoons to rush to Strider's arms. She was followed more sedately by a somewhat older boy, dark haired and serious, about as tall as the Hobbits and enough like Strider to be close kin.

"Here now," the Man said laughing, "Where are our manners? Mind your guests."

"This is my son Shade and my daughter Laughter," said Lightfoot. "Children, make your bow to Mr. Baggins, Mr. Brandybuck, Mr. Took and Sam Gamgee."

"At your service and that of your family," said the boy with a bow as his little sister bobbed a curtsey.

"And this is my foster sister Lark," Lightfoot finished nodding towards the smiling, brown haired woman not quite as tall as herself.

"My but you Rangers do have odd names,"*1 Pippin said brightly and was promptly squelched by Merry.

But Lightfoot only laughed. "We do indeed."

….

Aragorn left the weary Hobbits to sup in privacy with the children and their governess following Aranel down the winding stair to the hall. She came to a sudden stop on the landing, turning to face him.

"Frodo left the Shire just in time," she said quietly. "That same day the Nine attacked the guard at Sarn Ford. The Men held them as long as the light lasted by at nightfall three of the Riders managed to break through. Aravorn is dead.

Aragorn's eyes closed in pain. Aravorn was a captain of Rangers, Warden of the Downs, and a close kinsman. "What of his sons?"

"Safe for now," Aranel answered gravely. My husband sent them home to their mother. But they are unlikely to sit long in their own hall as things are - nor will Angwen try to hold them."

Aragorn's eyes opened and they held a dangerous glint. "And you did not see fit to tell me all this when we on the road?"

"You had other urgent concerns and all that could be done had been," she answered calmly.

After a moment he sighed and nodded. "That is true. Very well, I will write to Arahael reminding him of his duty to our House and his Wardship. I will not have Angwen's boys getting themselves killed doing something foolish."

Aranel smiled slightly. "And we both know just how foolish the Isildurioni can be," she agreed.

…..

A small door at the foot of the stair opened onto the broad dais at the head of the great hall of Greymere. Three banners hung above the fireplace behind the long head table emblazoned with the black sword of the House of Turin between the star of Elendil and the new moon of Isildur.

Several Men were already standing behind the chairs of the high table and scores of others milled, talking quietly among themselves, in the lower hall. All fell silent at Aragorn's appearance, standing respectfully until he took his seat in the great chair at the center of the table.

A page in the white and yellow colors of the House of Turin brought two or three recently returned scouts to join Aragorn at table and they answered his questions as they ate.

The news was not good; the Nine were abroad, searching the road with the stubborn, mindless persistence of wraiths. Fortunately they were scattered all along its length. Aragorn could handle as many as four at a time but no man living – nor Elf either – could withstand all the Nine at once. Worse still no one had found news anywhere of Gandalf.

"I begin to fear the worst," Aragorn told Aranel grimly. "Difficult as it is to believe that one so ancient and cunning and powerful could find himself overmatched." Looking down the hall he noticed an unusual number of women and children and old men at the long tables.

"From outlying holdings either lost or threatened," his hostess explained quietly.

"The line is collapsing, Dunadan," added the worn grey captain sitting at her left hand. "Everything north of us is fallen and only the One above All knows how long we will be able to cover the road."

"But it is secure for now," said Aranel. "You will have to keep to it, Aragorn, Ringwraiths or no."

Reluctantly he agreed. "I fear you are right, little one. Give me four short swords from your armory. I cannot be everywhere and Halflings may have to defend themselves.

…..

Strider found the Ringbearer sitting alone in the solar, lit now only by a candle or two and the fire on the hearth when he returned to check on his charges.

"Frodo?"

The Hobbit looked steadily up at the man and raised a hand to point at the square of tapestry hanging over the mantelpiece. "That's Turin," he said, "and the dragon Glaurung that he killed, and his sister Nienor." He half turned to indicate the long panel of needlework on the wall facing the windows. "And that's the tale of Beren and Luthien."

Strider's closed and wary face relaxed into something close to a smile, "Bilbo taught you well."

Frodo caught his breath. "You know Bilbo?"

The Man nodded. "There are few here in the North who would not know his name. He is more famous in the world outside the Shire then your folk deem."

"Especially among other Elf-Friends," Frodo slid off the oversized chair and lessened the distance between then by a few steps. "I know who you are," he said and caught a quick flash of something very like alarm in Strider's face. "You are the King's People. They didn't all die in the old wars after all."

The Man did not deny it. "Those wars never ended, Frodo. This will be the last battle and I am afraid you and your friends are caught right in the middle of it." He got down on his knee so the Hobbit could look him in the eye without craning. "My people tell me the Wild has grown too perilous. We must chance the road."

"What about the Black Riders?" Frodo asked apprehensively.

"It is a risk we must take. They are scattered, with care and good fortune we may elude them."

Frodo swallowed. "Very well." Then, greatly daring; "What is your real name?"

Strider hesitated, but no more than an instant, then he smiled with a quick warming of his usually grim set features. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, at your service, Ringbearer."

"At yours and your families'," Frodo responded automatically, but with an uneasy feeling that in Aragorn's mouth the words were no mere formula but a vow.

…

Note: Lightfoot is giving the Hobbits the Westron forms of her family's Sindarin names. Lark is Lirulin; Shade, Daeron; and Laughter, Lalaith.


	4. Many Meetings

Frodo followed Bilbo rather timidly into the pillared banquet hall of Rivendell. One side of the great room was open to the starry sky and scented breezes and it was crowded with Elves, tall and fair and clad in flowing robes of richly hued silk. They parted for the two Hobbits with bows and friendly smiles that did nothing to make Frodo feel more comfortable.

He spotted Merry, Pippin and Sam all sitting together near the top of one of the several tables and started towards them, but Bilbo tugged him back. "No, my boy, we belong up there," he said and pointed with the end of his stick to the low dais at the head of the hall.

Elrond was seated in his great chair at the center of the high table with a beautiful Elven lady, long black hair rippling over her glistening white robes, at his side. Oh dear. Frodo felt he was hardly dressed for such company. He was further discomfited when the lady started to her feet and with a glad cry and swept around the table to kiss and embrace him. "I am so glad to see you up and sound, Frodo," she cried. "You gave me a sad fright."

"I – uh –" he could only stammer, face lambent.

She smiled. "You don't remember me do you, Frodo?"

For a moment his mind was an embarrassed blank then fragmentary images came back to him, like something out of a troubled dream. "You're Arwen," he said slowly. "You took me on your horse." His eyes widened with remembered horror. "The Riders almost got us!"

"But they didn't!" She kissed him again on the brow. "All is well now."

"Lady Arwen is Lord Elrond's daughter," Bilbo said quite casually. "And you did look more than three quarters dead when she brought you, Frodo. Frightened me half out of my wits I may say."

"Come, you must sit by me," the lady said leading Frodo to the chair at her left hand.

He could hardly refuse. Frodo wasted a moment wishing vainly he had on something better than travelling clothes – much the worse for wear! – then looked around him. He had a tall, golden haired Elf sitting to his left and Bilbo was slipping into the seat directly opposite, only to immediately jump back up to pump the hand of a grey headed Dwarf, the plaited ends of his beard tucked into a richly jeweled belt.

"My dear Gloin! How good to see you old friend. What brings you to Rivendell?"

"Kind Dain had messages for the Lord Elrond and I wasn't about to pass up a chance to visit with my old companion," the Dwarf answered smiling broadly down at the old Hobbit. "How are you, Bilbo?"

"Can't complain, can't complain," he answered happily. "Feeling my age a bit these days, but then I've got a right to haven't I? And who would this be then – as if I couldn't guess?" Bilbo beamed knowingly at the younger dwarf standing at Gloin's elbow.

"My son Gimli," Gloin confirmed. "He is very eager to meet the famous Burglar Baggins!"

"At your service, Master Baggins," Gimli bowed deeply. "And I mean that. I owe you my father's life several times over!"

"Oh, I'd say Gloin and I are about even in the life-saving department," Bilbo answered airily. "Come, sit down and tell me all the news from the Lonely Mountain. No – wait, before I forget; the lad on the other side of the table is my nephew Frodo, and that next to him is Prince Legolas, son of our old friend the Elven King of Mirkwood."

Frodo looked at his neighbor with new interest. The Elf met his eye and inclined his head politely.

Across the table Gloin's smile gave way to a frown as his attention shifted from Frodo to Legolas. "Friend?" he asked dryly.

"Yes friend!" Bilbo snapped. "Remember the Battle of Five Armies?" he shrugged. "As for our earlier misunderstandings – well the fault wasn't all on the Elves' side you know."

From the looks on their faces the two Dwarves didn't quite agree but they returned the Woodland prince's slight bow politely enough. Gloin and Bilbo were soon lost in mutual reminisces with Gimli listening interestedly but Frodo was distracted by the unpleasant feeling he was being stared at.

Looking down the table he found the culprit was a tall, fair haired man next to Gimli. Their eyes met and he rose and bowed. "Forgive me, Little Master," he said politely. "My people have fireside tales of the Halfling folk of the far north but I never thought to see one."

"We don't leave the bounds of our own country often," Frodo said rising to bow in return, "Frodo Baggins of the Shire at your service."

"Boromir son of Denethor of Gondor, at yours and your family's," the Man replied correctly.

"Gondor, eh?" Bilbo peered curiously around the two Dwarves. "And what brings you so far north, Master Boromir, or shouldn't I ask?"

The Man smiled wryly. "A dream brings me." He shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Normally I do not heed such things, but this dream was unlike any I had ever had and it came to my brother as well." He paused, suddenly lost in troubled thought.

"And what was this dream?" Bilbo prompted, eyes bright with interest.

"I saw the eastern sky grow dark," Boromir answered softly. "But in the West a pale light lilngered. And a voice cried; 'Your doom is at hand; Isildur's Bane is found!"

Frodo was suddenly acutely aware of the weight of the Ring lying cool against his skin under his shirt.

"And that brought you to Rivendell?" said Bilbo, now very serious.

"Yes. The Lord Elrond is the only one now living who remembers the Last Battle at the foot of Orodruin. If anyone can interpret the dream it is he."

"What is this 'Isildur's Bane'?" Gimli asked. Frodo and Bilbo exchanged looks. They knew.

"The One Ring, the Enemy's chief weapon," Boromir answered. "Isildur took it as a prize of war but it betrayed him to his death. It has been lost all this age of the world, but if Sauron has found it…" The Man shook his head, eyes haunted. "If Sauron has found it then our doom is indeed at hand."

Gimli looked at Bilbo with horror and surmise. He knew about the Hobbit's magic ring and Frodo realized he'd guessed the truth. "Sauron has not got it yet," the Dwarf said. "But he is seeking it. His messengers have come to Dale and to the Mountain asking questions. King Dain and King Brand know not what to do and sent us to beg Elrond's advice."

"We are troubled in the Mirkwood as well," Legolas said suddenly. "Sauron sends us no emissaries but his creatures haunt the forest; Orcs and the Great Spiders."

Gloin and Bilbo shuddered. They remembered the Spiders.

"It would seem all lands have felt the Dark Hand." Boromir looked questioningly at Frodo, "Including your Shire?"

He could only nod and glance at Bilbo for help but his uncle wouldn't meet his eye staring past him with a grim, set face.

"All lands have been troubled," Elrond said quietly from his place beyond his daughter. "And by fate or fortune all have been moved to send emissaries here to Rivendell. Tomorrow we will meet in council and all your questions be answered. But for tonight let us forget our fears and troubles and enjoy the company of old friends and new."

…..

After the meal the assembled company left the banquet hall in procession crossing a courtyard to a second, even larger hall open to the night on all sides with a bright fire burning on the hearth in the center of the sunken floor. A number of Elven musicians struck up a tune and the Lady Arwen rose from her seat at her father's side to sing.

"I can't believe it," Gloin muttered to Bilbo, under cover of the music. "That little ring of yours that we all treated so casually!"

"How do you think _I_ feel," the old Hobbit answered, "Just slipping it on anytime I wanted to avoid an unwelcome caller, if only I'd known!"

"Well you didn't." That was Gandalf, suddenly appearing behind them. "Nor was there any reason why you should. I on the other hand –" he stopped, sighed. "Well, there's no used repining. Come, Gloin, I want to hear about those messengers from Mordor."

The Wizard and Dwarves moved away leaving Frodo alone with his uncle. Bilbo shook himself and gave him a determined smile. "Gandalf's right as usual. What's done is done. The Ring's safe here in Rivendell and all these great folk will know what to do about it."

Frodo nodded agreement. As Sam had said, their part was over. Well, almost. He still had to turn over the Ring to whoever was to take charge of it. Presumably that was what the council tomorrow would decide. It had been a nasty adventure but wonderful in spots. Why without the Ring he might never have seen Rivendell!

His eye wandered over the assembly as the music soothed and warmed his spirit. He smiled when he saw Sam, mouth hanging open and eyes shining with the wonder of it all. And he almost laughed aloud at the sight of his two young cousins curled up on cushions tranquilly asleep. Raising his eyes to the open sides of the hall he saw a familiar/unfamiliar figure standing between two pillars. It was Strider, looking very tall and surprisingly presentable in glimmering grey and silver. Frodo nearly stood up and waved but it wasn't necessary. Their eyes met and Strider skirted around the crowd to join the two Hobbits.

"Where have you been?" Frodo demanded softly. "I was beginning to think you'd gone without even a good-bye!"

The Ranger sat cross-legged on the floor next to their stools and smiled. "I had business to attend to."

Bilbo snorted. "You mean you've been hiding from that Man Boromir." He gave Strider a stern look. "You're going to have to face him sometime you know. Lord Elrond will see to that."

The Man shook his head. "The Ring must be our chief concern. This is not the time for raising side issues."

"Side issues!" Bilbo's voice rose dangerously turning a few heads. He lowered it self-consciously. "My dear Estel, you are not a side issue!"

"Estel?" Frodo interrupted. "I thought your name was Aragorn?"

"So it is," Bilbo answered. "Estel is what they called him as a boy which is when I first met him on my way to the Lonely Mountain. Why he was no taller than you in those days."

Frodo blinked. Bilbo's great adventure had been nearly seventy years ago, if Strider had been a boy then why he must be eighty or so now.

"I am older than I look," Strider smiled, correctly interpreting Frodo's startled expression.

"He's Numenorean, my boy," Bilbo reminded him. "They can live up to twice as long as we Hobbits do, and they don't show their age until they're ready to lie down and die."

"Are you going to be at the council tomorrow?" Frodo asked the Man.

Strider nodded. "I'll be there." He glanced sidelong at Bilbo. "As will Boromir of Gondor, a Man of the Beornings, delegates from Dale and Laketown, your Dwarf friends, Bilbo, my friend Legolas and Galdor from the Havens. All the Free Peoples will be represented – including Hobbits."

"Just Frodo," said Bilbo, adding to his surprised nephew; "I'm sorry, my boy, but I'm sure to nod off and we wouldn't want that in front of all the grand folk." He struggled to his feet with the help of his stick and Strider's hand. "In fact I'll be off to bed now before I fall asleep right here."

"I'll go with you," said Frodo.

"No, no, my boy, stay and enjoy yourself."

"Really I'd rather. It's been a long day, Bilbo."

"And his first day up," said Strider.

Bilbo shrugged. "Very well, if you're sure you want to."

"Good night," said Strider as they turned to go, Frodo's hand under Bilbo's elbow.

The old Hobbit shot the Man a mischievous look over his shoulder. "By the way Arwen's been trying to catch your eye for the last five minutes. Don't keep the lady waiting!" He led Frodo off chuckling to himself.

His nephew didn't see the joke, nor did he understand when Bilbo sighed and said quietly; "Being who he is that boy's bound to have a hard life. But I swear sometimes he goes out of his way to make it harder."

Frodo decided not to ask. It wasn't really his business was it? Soon he'd be back in the Shire leaving the great world and its troubles behind him.


	5. After The Council

Frodo sat in the garden below his room and stared at the little golden circle resting in the palm of his hand. 'Why did I do it?' he asked himself. Whatever had possessed him to volunteer to take the Ring to the fire?

The answer was obvious. He'd done it because he'd had to. Everybody had been shouting and it was clear that none of the great folk could trust themselves or each other with the Ring. It had to be somebody small and unimportant. Somebody it couldn't tempt, somebody like him. So now he was committed, and Sam and Merry and Pippin with him. Well they'd have Gandalf to look after them – and Strider too.

Now that had been a shock, no mistaking! Frodo's lips quirked wryly as he remembered Legolas' words; 'He is Aragorn son of Arathorn, you owe him your allegiance.' Which had made no sense at all until Boromir had added; 'This is Isildur's Heir.' Frodo had stared, but nobody else has seemed surprised. It was like they'd all known, all but him and Boromir.

Strider wasn't just one of the King's People, he was the King himself. Frodo had understood Boromir's bitterness perfectly. If there was still a King why wasn't he_ doing_ something? Why didn't he make things right? But of course Aragorn _was_ doing something. He'd seen four feckless Hobbits and the Ring safe to Rivendell and now he was going to take them – and it – into Mordor itself. 'If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.' Strider had said and he'd knelt down in front of Frodo and pledged his sword to a Hobbit of the Shire.

Having never had anybody – much less a King – swear fealty to him Frodo hadn't had the faintest idea what to do or say. Luckily Aragorn hadn't seemed to expect any response. He'd just smiled and gotten up, to Frodo's intense relief, moving to stand by his side as the others came forward to swear in turn. So now he had Legolas' Elven boy, Gimli's Dwarf axe and Boromir's sword to protect him – or rather the Ring. Together with Gandalf's magic that should be enough to get them through – he hoped!

"Frodo?"

He looked up to see Strider – Aragorn – the King looking down at him, brow crinkled in a small frown of concern. Frodo slid off the bench and held out the Ring. "By rights this is yours, not mine."

Aragorn shook his head. "By rights it should not even exits." He knelt down to put himself on eye level and continued gently; "Frodo, If I could I would take this burden from you, but I dare not. Isildur was a great Man and yet the Ring overcame him. I would prove no stronger."

"I understand." Frodo slipped the ring back on its chain and hung it around his neck. "It's got to be me." He looked at the Man – the King - a little shyly. "I don't know what to call you."

"Aragorn will do very well. It is my name."

….

Bilbo did not the take the news at all well. "It should be me, not Frodo," he argued stumping restlessly around his nephew's room. "Why did you make me leave it to him?" he demanded of Gandalf. "I could have brought the thing here to Rivendell years ago and saved the boy all this trouble and danger."

"The Ring had already done you great harm," Gandalf replied patiently. "For your sake it was best it passed on."

"What? So it can hurt Frodo too? No! I won't have it." Bilbo thumped his stick for emphasis and glared defiantly at the Wizard. "The harm's already done. What worse do I have to fear?"

"Bilbo," Gandalf laid a kindly hand on the shoulder of the outraged old Hobbit. "No one here doubts your courage or your willingness but this task is beyond your strength. You must leave it to Frodo."

Bilbo glared up into the Wizard's eyes for a moment longer, then slumped and sighed. "You're right of course. I'm just a feeble old Hobbit. I'd be lucky to make it to the Misty Mountains, let alone Mordor.

"I'll be fine, Bilbo," Frodo put in reassuringly. "I have Gandalf and Aragorn and Sam to look after me, don't I?" He shot a quick glance and smile at the Man and Hobbit sitting silently by.

Bilbo plopped himself down in one of the small chairs that had been brought down from the old Nursery for the Hobbits' use. "But who's going to look after Merry and Pippin?"

"Boromir?" Aragorn suggested.

Frodo frowned. "Is he going to be a problem? I mean the two of you didn't exactly hit it off did you?"

"I will talk to him," Aragorn promised.

…..

"The Council of Gondor rejected the claims of the Isildur's Heirs," Aragorn told Boromir some hours later. "I will not contest that judgment. I have no mind for strife with any but our common Enemy." It had taken him most of the afternoon but he had finally tracked the Man down in the upper gallery of Elrond's library studying the murals of the history of Men and Elves.

"My father is the steward of Anarion," Boromir answered defensively. "It is to them he and I owe our allegiance."

"My House represents that line too through Firiel daughter of Ondoher," Aragorn pointed out then caught himself up. "But I have no wish to rehash old arguments. My concern is the Kingdom of the North, or what is left of it, as Gondor is yours. The Enemy in the East is our common foe we have no quarrel with one another."

"I understand," Boromir said slowly.

Relieved Aragorn changed the subject. "The Hobbits are brave but inexperienced. They will need watching, guarding, especially the two youngest ones.

"On such a mission – quest – thing," Boromir agreed, lips curving in amusement.

Aragorn nodded, also smiling, "Exactly." The smile faded. "They have no idea what they are facing."

"I gathered as much," Boromir agreed seriously. "I will be glad to do what I can for them. Merry and Pippin is it?"

"So they are called. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took to give them their proper names. They have not been trained to arms unfortunately, such is not Hobbit custom."

"Then they had better learn," said Boromir. "I have some experience as a teacher."

"Thank you. I am glad we understand each other." Aragorn gave the other Man a little bow and walked away.

Boromir watching him go, troubled by confused emotions. It would seem the long lost King had no interest at all in Gondor. That should have pleased Boromir. He couldn't understand why it made him feel lost as child abandoned by its parents to live or die in the Wild.

…..

Dwarves have tenacious memories. They never forget either a wrong or a benefit, and they always pay their debts. The old Burglar could say what he liked but Gimli knew very well that his father and uncles and other kinsmen would have died long before reaching the Lonely Mountain if not for the resourceful Mr. Baggins. The Dwarves of Erebor owed their restored kingdom to Bilbo and now his nephew and heir had taken on an even greater quest on behalf of all the Free Peoples. Gimli son of Gloin intended to go with him, to guard and to serve him every step of the way, even into the fires of Mordor itself in repayment of the debt owed to the uncle, and for the nephew's sake as well.

Gimli liked what he'd seen of the youngster. Frodo had obviously inherited Bilbo's courage as well as his Ring. And thanks to his father's stories Gimli knew better than to be taken in by the younger Hobbits' seeming softness. They were Bilbo Baggins' kin, with his blood in their veins, and his strength and cunning would be there when they needed it. In the meantime their older and more experienced companions would look out for them.

It was a pity they couldn't leave sooner. The Dwarf looked disapprovingly at the airy, open halls and terraced gardens around him. Insubstantial, flimsy sort of place this Rivendell. No proper walls, trees growing right inside the rooms, not at all to Dwarvish taste. Still he could stand it for a month or two if he had to.

And he did. The Dunadan was quite right to want their route thoroughly scouted before they set out. It seemed the Rangers were as hard pressed as everybody else, what with evils left by Agmar creeping out of their hiding places and haunting the Wild. Gloin had been quick to remind Aragorn that the Dwarf halls of the Blue Mountains and Erebor itself were open to his people should they have need of refuge. Long ago the Dunedain had sheltered Durin's folk, driven forth from Moria by Durin's Bane, and the Dwarves did not forget it.

The bell rang for the noon meal and Gimli turned his wandering steps towards the main hall, stumping stolidly up the winding paths and several flights of stone steps.

The Wood-Elf, Legolas, appeared walking along and intersecting path, also on his way to the Hall. Gimli was none too enthusiastic about this companion. Still that bow of his was likely to be of some use. He gave the Elf a stiff little nod of Elf nodded back and they continued on in silent company.

It wouldn't be so bad, Gimli assured himself. He'd be civil as long as the Elf was, and with so many companions they need not have much to do with each other.

…..

If the Dwarf could be civil so could he, Legolas said to himself. Just be distantly polite and keep conversation to a minimum. That axe of his would prove useful at any rate. Legolas was familiar enough with the roads eastward to have some idea of the perils they would face.

Once again Aragorn had turned away from his desitiny, quixotically offering his sword to the Ringbearer. Yet Legolas had seen Gandalf and Elrond exchange a near wink as if very well pleased by their protégé's decision. The minds of Wizards are subtle and tortuous and Elrond's great age and mortal blood made him almost as inscrutable.

Concern for Aragorn as well as admiration for the Halfling's courage had moved Legolas to join the company. If Isildur's Heir was to travel throug the kingdom that denied him and into the territory of his bitterest foe he would need a friend at his back. As for the Ringbearer, Legolas' father Thranduil had been most impressed by Bilbo Baggins. If young Frodo was anything at all like his uncle that seemingly gentle exterior concealed unsuspected resources of courage and cunning. Frodo would need those qualities badly and all the help his companions could give him.

.


End file.
